The future has no Indians,
No Pacific coast.
Its mines are planets,
Its fire stars.
Huge colonies hover
Like worshippers,
Arms outstretched,
While galleons sail
On solar wind.
There are forty quintillion
Amazon jungles
Per single, sated termite,
And the only things
People tend to run out of
Are numbers.
But far out at the edges,
In ships that cube the speed of light,
A few daring scouts
Search desperately
For Indians.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.
Audio and Video Music: Andante in Re Minore. By Damiano Baldoni. Performed by Damiano Baldoni at the
Free Music Archive under an Attribution license.
